Type of Story: Series (The Paths Home:)
Characters: Most all from the X-Men movies
Feedback: Emily_joyner@... (Please?? I love feedback!!)
Disclaimer: I don't own them; I only play with them
Additional Disclaimer: I'd like to think that I'm being
original
here, but more than likely I'm not. If anyone else has read
anything
like this, please let me know so that I can give credit where
it's
due!

Song fic: Ordinary World by Duran Duran
(Words in italics are song lyrics)
Companion piece to The Paths Home: Bleak Desolation and The Paths
Home: I'm Not a Man Who Falls Too Easily.
_____________________________________________________________________

Came in from a rainy Thursday
On the Avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly.

Ororo walked into the mansion after shopping that afternoon and
paused in the foyer. She looked around at the walls, the spiraling
staircase, the paintings, the rugs, but she didn't really see any
of
them. All she saw were her memories of Jean. And in the faintest
field of her hearing, it was almost like she could hear Jean's
soft,
cultured voice speaking to her, reminding her of how much she missed
her best friend.

I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio
Still I can't escape the ghost of you.
What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some would say.
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away

Ororo sadly made her up the stairs and to her suite of rooms and
stopped in the doorway of the darkened main room. She dreaded going
in there sometimes, the memories her rooms contained were numerous.
She reached in the doorway and flicked on the lights and made her way
over to her entertainment center. She proceeded to turn on the TV
(on the Weather Channel, of course) and the radio where calming
classical music began flowing out, settling her. But still, on the
farthest edges of her senses, she could almost hear Jean.

She turned and looked at all of the framed photographs on her table
and smiled sadly. Jean always looked so vibrantly alive, the air
almost humming around her from her vitality. Jean swore it was
because she was a redhead and that if she dyed her hair brown, no one
would notice her. But Ororo knew it was actually Jean herself.
Especially after her abilities started to get stronger. But at no
point did Ororo ever think of her as anything other than `Jean
 Best
Friend'.

Sometimes, the ache of missing her got to be too much. Ororo would
sit and look out her window, holding the charm bracelet with the
little lightening bolts on it and cry. Kurt would always know and
he'd come and comfort her. She'd always ask the same thing
of
him: "What is happening? Why?"

And he'd always have the same answer: "It's crazy. There
is no
reason. It just is."

He'd hold her and she'd accept his comfort. Her old life was
gone
now. She didn't recognize her new one. All that remained was
madness, it seemed.

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find.
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive.

This particular Thursday was different, though. Ororo watched as the
rain washed away the chalk on the back patio from where the children
had been drawing. She watched as the red chalk drawing of a fire
truck blended into one large red splotch and began washing into the
flower beds. It was then that she knew. She would always miss Jean,
but she had to come back to the world. She had to live. Ororo would
learn to survive.

Passion or coincidence
Once prompted you to say
"Pride will tear us both apart."

Charles looked out the windows of his study and remembered Erik's
words. They were younger men then, headstrong, full of ideals, full
of pride. Ironic that Erik would be the one to be right. He had
stated to Charles during their final argument that finally ended
their associations that their pride would be their
downfall. `Foolish Pride' Charles believed Erik called it.

He sat there and thought about Jean and how much he missed her. She
had been like a daughter to him and he'd loved her dearly. His
original three students: Ororo, Scott and Jean, all held special
places in his heart, but Jean had been different. There was the
mental bond he'd shared with her due to her telepathic abilities.
It
pained him greatly not have that comforting presence on the edges of
his being. He could only imagine how Scott must be feeling.

He knew from the link she'd used to communicate with Scott that
she'd
believed that she would survive the explosion of water. But he felt
the moment she realized that this was not going to be the case. He
felt her acceptance and he felt her sorrow at leaving them. But he
would never forget her final works to him, before she closed the
link

"It's not your fault."

Well now pride's gone out the window, across the rooftops, run
away
Left me in the vacuum of my heart.
What is happening to me?
Crazy, some would say.
Where is my friend when I need you most?
Gone away

It was his fault, however. Erik was right. Charles' pride and
arrogance had brought them this pain. His pride had nearly cost all
of the helpless children at the mansion their home. His pride had,
in fact, actually killed humans and mutants alike while he was in the
second Cerebro. His pride had brought pain and suffering to
millions. And now he could only feel gaping emptiness in his heart.
His pain and guilt were overwhelming him to the point of almost being
blank in everything. Combined with the grief within the mansion, it
was taking everything Charles had in him not to succumb to the
madness threatening to overtake him. He didn't understand what
was
happening to him. But he knew he needed Erik. He needed to talk to
Erik about everything that had been happening. But Erik was gone and
Charles couldn't find him.

Papers in the roadside tell of suffering and greed
Feared today, forgot tomorrow.
Here beside the news of holy wars and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrow, that's all.

Charles looked over at the newspapers on his desk and felt an aching
sadness. His whole world had just fallen apart; people had died
tragic deaths, millions suffered at his hands, and all that the news
reported were bombings in foreign restaurants and political scandals
involving faceless cabinet members and assistants. Agendas that had
been feared and conspired against had been forgotten about with the
news about Holy Jihads and Pope assassination attempts. In the grand
scheme of things, his grief over Jean and Erik were nameless and
unimportant and it offended him. He'd lost his daughter and lost
his
best friend all over again. And he didn't know if he could get
through this war any longer. It was wearing on him.

But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find.
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive.

This particular Thursday was different, though. Charles watched as
the rain washed away the chalk on the back patio from where the
children had been drawing. He watched as the red chalk drawing of a
fire truck blended into one large red splotch and began washing into
the flower beds. He could feel Ororo grieving in her suite of rooms,
he could sense Scott and Marie comforting each other, and he could
tell Logan was healing from the heartache. It was then that he
knew. He would always miss his beautiful daughter. He would always
love her. He would cherish her memory. But he had to bring himself
back to the world and he had to honor her sacrifice. He would live.
He would learn to survive.

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